Eurydice, at The End [Ovid, X: 1-85]
by helen jenks
There is always a river, that first boundary of shape,
preventing the crossing. See April, this disruptive
season, how the water swells and roils against its
keeping. Perhaps it was the Liffey first, and then the Seine;
now, the Styx, returned to other vestiges: a letter,
a brooch, a gentle kiss along the mountainside. Must
you go where I can’t follow? Even the rivers know
what it is to be so loved, curling into the sea. Your
footsteps ahead, alone in the dark –– what other role is
meant for me? Walk on, let us both swallow down our love.
When you left, I left too. Not to run, but to remind myself
what is worth keeping. Turn back, the air is changing. I am
where I always have been, dying and dying again. Turn
back, there is too much space. Stop, the light is blinding —
I cannot see you. Turn back, please, it’s me. I am holding
out my hands. I have a poem waiting for you, my heart, too.
Turn back, turn back, turn back, turn back
Please ––
Turn back, dearest, if just to say what was worth losing.
It’s only love, in the end.
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